


Stained All Over (Why Dean Winchester Hates Witches)

by YumeNoTsuzuki (Yumejin)



Series: Libera Me, de Pactum Aeterna [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, Case Fic, Con Artists, Exorcisms, Libera Me Verse, Magical Tattoos, Non-corporeal Castiel, Rituals, Sacrificing Dean Winchester to the powers of Darkness, Trans Female Character, Witchcraft, alternative universe, tattooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yumejin/pseuds/YumeNoTsuzuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s still new to the job, so he can’t exactly be blamed for getting himself sliced up pretty by a scythe-wielding witch with an ancient grudge, right? Though Lena’s girlfriend doesn’t seem to think it’s a viable excuse for bleeding all over their floor and really doesn't go out of her way to make him feel welcome. Also, Cresil is a slimy bastard, even by Demon standards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stained All Over (Why Dean Winchester Hates Witches)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by **amikrumping** from Tumblr. Thank you so much!  <3

 

 “Боже мой,” Lena gasps when he tumbles over the counter of her bar, finally letting go of any semblance of strength. Her unnaturally pale green eyes are hovering somewhere above him, glowing eerily in contrast to the dimly lit ceiling, before vanishing as his consciousness fades away.

❖

Dean was finally allowed to drive the Impala. She was a gorgeous car and ran as smoothly as the day she was bought. Well, according to Bobby anyway. Dean still couldn’t quite believe it was actually _his_ now, legally and he could actually go… anywhere he could possibly want. He could pick up Sammy from school; maybe impress some of the hot chicks that are bound to be hanging around the parking lot after classes. Sammy would probably like that too, after a long day of studying.  Well, not the part about picking up girls, he actually kind of hated Dean’s habit of ignoring him in favour of ogling cheerleaders. The kid was only 12, so Dean supposed he still had time to learn how to appreciate the beauty in the human form. Then again, at that age, he had already explored his sexuality far more than most of the school, combined. Nonetheless, Sammy should like to get a lift home and Dean wasn’t about to pass up a golden opportunity like this anyway.

He had left Cresil’s _lair_ feeling slimy all over, body and soul. The Demon was a complete asshole, but Dean wasn’t about to be picky with his jobs. Cresil had a good one set up in some small village not too far away. It was convenient, and with a bit of luck, he could get it over with before Sam was out of school. It was still quite early and all he needed to do was to spin a story about ghosts and demons for some rich old lady for a few minutes and go home.

The plan was quite simply brilliant. A team of demons who worked for Cresil sneak into the house of a rich and gullible ‘customer’ a couple of nights in a row, make a little noise and move things about. Next, one of the other agents stops by to warn them of an ‘evil spirit’ lurking around their house. _I’m a little more attuned to these things to those things, you see. I got a bit worried; it looks like a strong one. I wouldn’t want a lovely lady like you to get hurt. No, no, this is much more common than you would think! There are even jobs like mine… yes, an exorcist, certified by the Vatican! Here’s my business card. Well, If you’re sure…. Just be careful._ It was amazing how easily most people caved in. Two-three days and they phoned in, begging to be saved, for any amount of money that Cresil cared to name. The way Dean tried to see it to ease his conscience was thinking of the money simply being put back in circulation among regular folk. It’s no use sitting in some old hag’s account, unused till the day of her death. He just… helped it along a little. It wasn’t like anyone was getting hurt and, well, the pay was enough to convince him any day. Sammy’s school utensils and books weren’t popping out of nowhere for free, after all.

The house which rose from the horizon right in front of him was enormous. It was practically a luxury mansion, complete with spotless white walls, huge glass windows and a swimming pool. Whoever lived there must have been practically rolling around in cash. Sweet, easy money **,** which would very soon make its way into Dean’s account. He had quite a good feeling about this job, and a lazy grin placed itself on his lips as he strode along the neat path to ring the doorbell. It was quite a long moment before it finally opened. He was almost ready to turn back to the Impala and come back in a couple of hours, maybe ready with all the ‘exorcist gear’ he’ **d** had to procure to make himself more convincing on previous jobs. It was all fake – starting with the crosses (which weren’t even blessed) and finishing with the holy water that was simply run from the tap. Sometimes, if he really wanted to go all out, he even got candles and _antique_ books from which he read complete and utter nonsense. It was actually kinda fun to dress up, though he’d never admit that aloud. He was just glad that at 16 he looked old enough to pass for 18-20 and was blessed with the ability to put on an act.

When the door finally swung open, it revealed a blondewoman, perhaps in her late twenties **, w** earing a very revealing, unbuttoned top. And a pencil skirt. Damn.

“Uh.. um.. hi!” Dean stuttered, caught completely off guard. He could already feel his hands sweating a little.

“Hello,” the woman replied, beaming at him with impeccably white teeth, leaning forward a little.

“Hi.” It took Dean a long moment to realise he was repeating himself like an idiot. “I was just driving past and…”

“Yes?” Now, she was _definitely_ doing that on purpose. Dean wasn’t sure whether to curse his nerves or praise whatever deity was out there for his good luck.

“Well, I know this is going to sound nuts, but… I got a bit worried,” he ran his hand roughly through the hair on the back of his neck. “So I thought I’d stop by. I think your house seems to have a sort of… bad aura around it.”

The woman’s perfectly-waxed eyebrows shot way up.

“What?” Her tone was suddenly flat and her eyes narrowed.

“Sorry! It’s just… I’ve always been attuned to this kind of thing. I know it probably sounds completely crazy, but I thought I might be able to help.”

“Alright… go on,” the woman looked a little worried now, but did not sound apprehensive like before. “Is it something dangerous?”

“I can’t say for sure. I just caught a glimpse of it before.” he fumbled with the hem of his shirt for extra effect. “Has anything strange happened around here lately? Things going missing, cold spots and stuff like that?”

“I don’t think so,” she looked a little sceptical, but thoughtful. “Actually, I couldn’t find one of my gold necklaces this morning! And I thought things had moved around the living room a little the other day, but that’s impossible of course…”

“It might just be a harmless poltergeist, then... it probably wouldn’t hurt you deliberately. They’re real clumsy though,” he grinned a little, knowing she was bought as soon as the necklaces were mentioned. He promised himself a nice cold beer as a reward for a job well done.

“Oh no! What should I do? My sister’s kids are coming here later tonight, what if they get hurt?” The woman sounded genuinely worried now. Dean saw his opportunity clear as day.

“Actually, I’m from an exorcist order. I didn’t want to say so before **,** so you wouldn’t think I was just some cultist whacko **;** but we might be able to help out, if you give us a call. I’m not authorized to exorcise myself just yet... getting my licence next month though!” he finished with a proud smile and a wink. She was sooo going to phone up before the end of the day.

“Thank you! If you hadn’t warned me… how can I ever repay you for your kindness?” She pushed the hair away from her face, her lips pursed slightly in concern.

“Oh, there’s no need. Just make sure you get this seen to! Would hate to see someone hurt unnecessarily.” He most definitely _wasn’t_ looking to get laid with the hot, blond and very experienced lady. Just because her type liked young, strong, helpful, nice guys…

“I definitely will. Actually, I just realised, my sister will be here in a couple of hours! Could you maybe… have a look around, just in case?” Her eyelashes were really long, too…

“I’m not qualified yet, sorry,” he shook his head a little, eyes downcast.

“Oh, nonsense! You seem like you know your stuff. It should be fine anyway **-** it’s only my necklace that had gone missing. There’s no harm in looking, just in case, right?”

“I suppose so… I could always call one of the senior priests to come in immediately if something goes wrong. I really shouldn’t try anything by myself, though,” he admitted **,** almost reluctantly.

“That’s great! I can’t thank you enough!” she beamed at him again, turning around on her heels in one swift, curving motion. “Please, come in. I don’t want to keep you too long, you were going somewhere, right?”

“Uh, yeah. It can wait a little though.”

“Was it a girlfriend?” The woman grinned, eyeing him not-so-subtly.

“No, no! Nothing important like that,” he assured her with the brightest Dean Winchester pick up smile.

“That’s good,” she said and stopped just in front of the door to the large, unusually clean living room full of expensive looking furniture and decorations. It took Dean a moment to realise she had stayed behind. He turned around to see why as something large and heavy smashed into his skull and he blacked out.

❖

The first thing he noticed was the smell, the repugnant _stench,_ which crawled into his nostrils and his mouth, thick in the air around him.

“Fucking hell…” he slurred, feeling the pulsing pain which could probably make his brain implode. It was dark, wherever he was. His eyes opened slowly, lazily as he struggled to stay awake. When his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he decided that he was most likely in some kind of a cellar. A really creepy one at that. There were jars full of… unidentifiable stuff, stacked up high on the shelves surrounding him. Something long and thin was hanging from the wall just beside him, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Nonetheless, he wrapped it around his hand and pulled himself up slowly, feeling the ground underneath his feet shift unsteadily. He almost regained his bearing when the lights flared on, blinding him.

He swore again and forced his eyes to open, taking in the bright light forcibly. He was still confused and his body barely cooperated, making him lean limply against the wall for support. Only then he realised that the long, dry thing wrapped around his hand was a windy, thin... intestine. It stank and immediately, he felt bile rise in his throat and he would probably have thrown up then and there, if not for the sound of a giggle snapping him out of it.

“I don’t appreciate little Demon boys coming to steal my hard-earned money,” the blond woman barked. She looked furious and her fists were clenched tight. “Did that bastard Cresil send you?”

“What if he did?” Dean managed to grind out, trying to regain his balance. “I’m just doing my job.”

“I told him to stay off my turf,” the woman snarled, but Dean ignored her. He could see the contents of the jars now. Eyes, fluffy tails, skulls, human nails… and a million other things he couldn’t even recognise, swimming in thick, yellowy liquid. There were endless shelves of them.

“I don’t care about your turf war or whatever. I just got sent here without knowing anything,” Dean said, stubbornly refusing to be intimidated, though the contents of his stomach were swirling around anxiously.

“That sounds like him,” the woman grimaced and stepped closer to him. “Too cowardly to come here himself and too much of an idiot to send someone capable. No matter, though. I’ve got something of his now, so I can hit him _right_ where it hurts. Lucky, lucky me.” Her red painted lips stretched widely and she moved to grab him. She was fast and Dean just barely avoided her, partially by accident as his legs wobbled uncertainly.

“Crazy bitch,” Dean spat, backing away blindly until his back met with a shelf. Its glass contents rattled ominously.

“You haven’t seen crazy yet, dear,” she laughed and skipped towards him. Her breasts, exposed in the thin white shirt, bounced luxuriously, but Dean found himself amazingly not caring for a free show for the first time in his life. He moved away, knocking the shelves over and crashing into the floor. He really hoped it fell over on top of the insane woman. No such luck though, and she was chasing him across the enormous basement in a split second. He was too slow and she caught up with him, quickly pinning him down with far more strength than he’d expected. Twisting his neck awkwardly up, he looked up at her feral expression, wide open eyes and salivating mouth.

“Sit still for a moment,” she hissed, wrapping her hands around his neck from behind, letting her nails dig deeply into his skin. Pain surged through him again, but this time it gave him strength. With a harsh intake of air, he surged upwards, pushing her off and onto the floor.

“Damn it,” she yelled in surprise. She didn’t give Dean the time to escape and quickly recited something in Latin. A giant scythe appeared in her hand, shining dangerously in the darkness.

Dean gulped loudly as he ran away without further delay, not even daring to look back. He was steps away from the light coming from behind a door or a window, when the scythe sliced across his back. The cut wasn’t deep, but it hurt like shit and he wasn’t given time to recover when the blade sliced across his legs, again cutting just barely deep enough to actually _hurt._ The crazy bitch’s claws were in him all at once, ripping into his arms and dragging him upstairs.

❖

He was tied up on the altar by the time she had calmed down and stopped clawing into him with her bare hands. He was sore all over, but nothing was broken, as far as he could tell from his awkwardly twisted position. His head was still throbbing a little; the crazy bitch must have hit him really fucking hard.

“I think we’re almost ready,” the blond woman announced, getting a small golden goblet seemingly out of nowhere. “Hand,” she demanded and when Dean made no move to comply, she simply grabbed it and slashed across his palm with a small pocket knife, letting the blood drip into the goblet.

She walked away, muttering to herself. “What else… a rabbit’s ear, some crushed flies and… and…oh, there it is, rat’s bones. That should do.”

Dean could barely see her out of the corner of his eye, but what he did see was less than pleasant. She was crushing the bones in her bare hands and the rabbit ear looked bloody and… fresh. Whatever the hell she was doing, he wanted no part of it. Fumbling awkwardly to sneak his hands into his pockets, he tried to get the small knife from the hidden inside pocket of his trousers. It was painful, the way he had to bend his arm to reach it, but he managed to grab it just as the witch turned around. Hiding it in his sleeve quickly, he tried to free himself from his bindings as she walked forward to him with the golden raised up high ceremoniously.

“Don’t squirm, it will only make more mess,” she chastised him and set the awfully smelling liquid down beside him on the table, just out of reach. Then she dropped all her clothes down and casually, lazily climbed on top of dean. This would have been totally fine with him, under almost any other circumstances, had it not revealed something rather peculiar. The witch had a penis. Not a very small one, either. It was large, hard and it pressed into Dean’s thigh insistently when she **-** he **-** got comfortable on top of him. Now, while that was hardly the issue with the whole messed-up situation, it didn’t change the fact that everything was going south awfully fast. He didn’t really want to stick around for the rest of whatever disgusting ritual the witch had planned to include him in. He really wanted to get the hell out of there, fast. Even if, just for a moment, he felt a ripple of arousal inappropriately flare to life. It quickly dissipated when his mind registered just what the witch was doing.

She was now spreading the bloody, filthy concoction over her nipples, drawing patterns all over the pale flesh carefully. They swirled and stretched down further and further, until her legs and crotch were covered in intricate symbols as well. Dean felt his brain go into overdrive when she finished, dreading whatever came next.

“Don’t worry; all you have to do is drink it.” The Witch was grinning at him cruelly, leaning in closely with her blood-covered face.

“ _What?”_ Dean practically choked out, instinctively cringing and trying in vain to back away. Whatever the hell was in that potion was probably cursed and long dead, neither of which Dean wanted to try ingesting. Even getting drawn all over was better than this, as nasty as it sounded. He was furiously thinking of a way to get out. He could try stabbing the witch in the thigh with the knife, but it likely would not help him get out of the bindings. He could only play for time. Working away on the ropes binding him with the small blade, he grinned awkwardly to distract the witch.

“Don’t guess there’s any way around that..?”

“No. I’ll force it down your throat if I have to,” the witch replied lazily while she swirled the bloody potion around in the goblet, inhaling the odour accompanying it.

“I’d really rather not… What the hell is in that crap anyway? Any… human parts?” he cringed even as he said it, but the rope was almost, almost cut now.

“Just a few.  Some hair and a liver.”

The witch’s laugh was interrupted by the sound of a door opening somewhere. Dean froze in place. He couldn’t run just yet if there were any more of those crazy witches around. He had to wait for a chance… as tempting as it was to stab the bitch while she was distracted.

“How’s this supposed to work anyway? How’s it going to hurt Cresil? He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me, or anyone for that matter,” he asked, still trying to stall as much as possible.

“I know that probably better than you do,” the Witch replied gruffly. “You made a contract with him, didn’t you? It creates a bond between you. It can be traced back to the original if you try hard enough. Basically, you’re like… a puppet voodoo doll.” She felt around Dean’s face, grasping his cheeks tightly, forcing his mouth open. “You’ve signed your soul over... and even when you die, you can hope only to burn under Alastair’s knife for eternity.”

The goblet tipped over, spilling blood and filth all over his face and trickling slowly down onto his tongue. He tried not to swallow, to spit it back out but he choked, feeling the nasty, cold liquid messily slide down on the walls of his throat even as he coughed.

“Cresil should know better than to think I’d forgotten, even after 400 years. I’m a Witch, I don’t just let things go so easily,” she forced the goblet to his lips now, tipping it over quickly, impatiently. “Also, I haven’t sacrificed anyone to the powers of Darkness lately. I think I might have actually aged a little.”

Dean didn’t have the chance to think, to react, to be terrified by the prospect of ingesting human organs and blood, being bound to Cresil in any way or by imminent torture at the psycho’s hand, because the door to the room opened and someone walked in, just out of Dean’s sight.

“Hey babe,” a man’s voice resounded somewhere vaguely behind him and the witch crawled off Dean and walked over to the new arrival, swaying her hips widely.

“Hello. I’ve got something special set up today,” she announced happily and for a long moment, the sounds of lips sucking on lips could be heard loud and clear. Dean grasped his chance and burst out of the ropes, running straight for the window. His heart was beating wildly, painfully as he rushed ahead, trying to regain control of the fear wreaking havoc in his mind. It was the first floor of the house, but what the hell. He jumped straight through the glass, falling into the pool beneath. Thank fuck for that.

“Get him!” the witch screeched and the man was running right after Dean.

Soaked and sore, he rushed to the Impala, only looking back for a split second. The man, tall and broad, dressed in a suit, was chasing him across the lawn. His eyes were shiny black, reflecting the sun so clearly they were practically glowing.

Swearing as he fumbled with the door of the car, Dean dove into the seat and slammed his foot down on the gas. He was too late.

Black smoke surrounded him, filling up the car, shifting in the air around him. It crawled _into_ him like maggots into a wound, slowly depriving him of air. He could barely see and his chest hurt, heaving in an attempt to expel the smoke. Then he felt it. Inside of him, moving his limbs and breathing with his lungs, pushing him into the back of his consciousness. He wasn’t about to let it. Fighting the black smoke with all his strength, he forced it back, feeling his body almost rip apart at the seams under the pressure. The Demon inside him swelled and thrashed, trying to get control of him, but something seemed to be blocking it. It wasn’t all Dean. He focused and drove the Demon back, but the invisible barrier keeping the vile creature out of his _core_ , his _mind,_ was something else. Like there wasn’t enough room for the Demon to sneak in. Dean felt full of energy, so bright and pure, it emanating from within him with the force of a ray gun, expelling the evil at once. He felt like he was floating. Light. Safe.

The pain had faded away and with a few deep breaths, he managed to concentrate enough to drive away, still feeling ecstasy rushing through him. The energy filling him up was fading away slowly, but it was still buzzing, just there, underneath the surface. The glow did not last long though and by the time he got back to Cresil’s place, he was aching all over and ready to deck the bastard on the spot.

The Demon guarding the door let him in without a single word. Apparently he was expected.

“Dean,” Cresil drawled in a quite needlessly dramatic manner. Two bodyguards were eyeing the teen from the far corners of the room. Dean didn’t give a flying fuck though and charged straight towards the pretentious dick’s desk.

“You set me up!” he practically screamed, slamming his bloody fists down onto the wood.

“You didn’t ask about the specifics…” Cresil’s awfully thin lips formed a line so tight they were practically invisible. His greasy, disgustingly smoothed out hair looked even worse than usual. Dean felt ill just being in the same room as him and that was saying something considering he handled almost being fed human liver better than that.

“That crazy bitch almost used me as a sacrificial lamb just to get back at you!” Dean accused, forcing himself to keep looking into the black pools of his _boss’_ eyes. He hated the feeling they gave him. With most demons, it was like staring into a black hole, vulnerable and exposed before an unstoppable force, but Cresil’s eyes were like a bubbling, filthy bog just waiting to suck you in when caught unaware.

“Yes, Angelique has quite a…fierce disposition,” the Demon nodded, now grinning to expose yellowing teeth. “Nonetheless, you’re fine… no harm done.”

“She cut me up with a fucking scythe! That’s not exactly ‘fine’!” Dean’s hands were shaking with fury now. The bastard wasn’t even acknowledging his mistake.

“You’ve managed to get back here, so it clearly wasn’t so bad. Stop being such a drama queen,” Cresil looked almost bored now and started fiddling with the buttons on the sleeve of his suit. “I will deal with her myself if I have to, I suppose, since you’re apparently incapable of carrying out a simple job.”

“A… simple job - ! What the fuck?! You told me it was one of the usual scams; I didn’t take any weapons with me, nothing!”

“Well, obviously you should have! It’s been over a year since I’ve hired you – _out of the goodness of my heart_ – so you better start pulling your weight!”

Dean wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face and then spit on in before slicing the bastard’s throat for good measure. But he already knew Demons’ didn’t even die that easy so there was no point. _Goodness of his heart, my ass,_ he thought grimly.

Instead, he drew back to a straight pose, trying to stop his fists from flying in Cresil’s direction all on their own, and tersely said:“Maybe if you’d bother actually giving me proper instructions, I could do what you want me to do instead of running around like a headless chicken”

 “You have another 24 years in my service, so you better learn how to follow my orders, no matter what they are,” the Demon replied, not budging under Dean’s determined stare. It only incensed him further and before he could get another word out, the teen was across his desk, gripping him by the collar of his fancy, ironed shirt. He was so ready to land a blow, to knock the smug look right off the Demon’s face, when he was thrown backwards by an invisible force. His body hit the floor gracelessly.

“Never try that again, Winchester,” Cresil was above him, leaning over with an angry scowl twisting his already ugly features into a feral grimace. With a small movement of his hand, the invisible force snapped his right wrist violently, throwing his hand back at an unnatural angle. Dean actually cried out in pain, crawling away from the Demon on all fours.

“Be ready for your next assignment in three days. You might even get paid if you don’t fuck up again.”

Dean doubted he had ever hated anyone more.

❖

His eyes opened slowly.

“He seems to be waking up,” a familiar voice intoned calmly from somewhere to the left.

Dean heard, “Shit.” followed by a series of foreign words. “Knock him out again. Quickly!”

❖

“Dean Winchester, you complete and utter moron,” someone said when he finally came to, blinking confusedly.  “I don’t understand why Lena likes you so much.”

“Because I’m awesome and she can’t resist my male magnetism,” he grinned, relaxing as he realised that his body was feeling a lot better and was not in immediate danger judging by the comfort of soft covers over and under him. He started to shift and try to sit up, when a fist collided with his stomach painfully, awakening the lingering sensations in the numerous cuts all over his body.

“You shouldn’t punch someone when they are down,” Lena’s calm voice floated into the room and she appeared in the doorway, carrying a bucket full of water and a sponge.

“He bled all over my floor and he owes me his sorry life. I can punch him all I want,” the other woman announced in a disinterested tone. Dean turned to look at her. He had never seen her before, though he had a creeping feeling he could suspect her identity. She was dressed in a Japanese yukata and her dark hair was clipped lazily at the side of her head in a messy sort of bun. She looked tired and grumpy, for a lack of a better description. Her hands were folded stiffly over her stomach. She seemed still, somehow. Like a painting, not moving.

“What happened?” Dean looked from the woman to Lena, who placed the bucket on the floor, beside a bloody puddle and then moved to sit beside the bed as well.

“You showed up at our doorstep, bloody, beaten and with signs of recent demonic possession and ritual potions in your system,” the dark haired woman replied with a sour expression on her face. Dean had guessed she must have been Ise, the infamous owner of Lena’s bar and the protector of peace in the neutral zone. She was quick to punch, so that probably explained why nobody ever broke the no-violence rule in the premises of their bar. Oddly, she did not look Asian. He had always assumed, from the name and the rumours of a katana-wielding monster, that it was a Japanese man who owned the bar and was married to Lena. Clearly, he had been completely wrong, because Lena was now holding the unhappy woman’s hand with a serene expression on her face, with afternoon light dancing gently in her pale eyes.

“She means we saved you and you are welcome,” she said with a small, but genuine smile.

“Thanks… I guess,” Dean replied sheepishly, looking between the two of them, feeling humbled and grateful.

“He can’t even express gratitude correctly,” Ise grumbled, squinting at him.

“Don’t mind her. She’s a little old fashioned that way,” Lena waved her hand dismissively. “She just doesn’t like it when people gamble with their lives like you did today.”

“Not true. I do not care if he throws his life away foolishly, as long as it’s far away from here,” Ise bit out, scowling. Lena looked at her partner with obvious annoyance, which caused Ise to look away and clasp her mouth firmly shut.

“We have done as much as we can for you. Your physical injuries are mostly healed up, but…” Lena seemed to be searching for the right words.

“Demonic possession and witchcraft… as well as _demon_ _deals,”_ Ise cut in, giving him a disapproving look. “Always leave a mark. A stain, if you will. The reason witches and victims of possession are most often condemned to Sheol after death is simply because their very souls are altered by the influence of Demonic powers. It is virtually impossible to remove them by ordinary means.”

Dean processed the new information slowly, feeling something new swirling in the pit of his stomach. Worry. It was never truly gone, ever since he sealed the Deal, he had just pushed it away by justifying his desperation at the time. They had been on the verge of starving and losing the house, Bobby’s business had been doing so badly he could not lend them any more money either.  It really was the only thing he could have done besides hanging round empty parking lots after dark.

“So… I’ve, I’m-.” The words died somewhere between his thoughts and his vocal chords, never quite making it out. He felt the handprints of greasy, filthy palms grabbing and pulling on his soul, trying to rip him to pieces. The dark stains all over seemed to weigh him down like lead, so heavy he could barely keep himself together. Taking in air in hollow, startled breaths, he struggled to keep afloat, almost drowning in the intensity of the feelings playing tug-of-war with his conscience.

“Help him,” he heard Lena say.

“He shouldn’t have made a deal with one of those abominations in the first place. Twenty five years from now and he’ll be burning in the Pit no matter what I do,” Ise replied stubbornly, her voice steady and flat. Dean turned to face her, feeling helplessly detached from his surroundings. Her face betrayed nothing.

“His soul still has a chance,” Lena said, looking firmly and steadily at the other woman, not backing down. “Don’t become impartial like _Them.”_

This seemed to mean something, because Ise’s posture softened a little and she looked at Dean with annoyed determination.

“Fine, but you will teach him how to take care of himself better,” she said, unfolding her arms and leaning closer to Dean. “I’m not patching him up if things get a little rough again.”

“Deal.”

Lena rose from her seat and moved towards the door. “She’ll take good care of you,” she assured before vanishing from sight.

“Whatever,” Ise grumbled as soon as they were alone. “I’m an Onmyoji , not a bloody nurse. Ask me to read your future or ward off demons and I’ll do my job, but healing the souls of idiots who let the whole Demon world know their name and make themselves into a brightly shining target is the last thing I’d like to be doing. Ever.”

Dean was about to ask what an onmyoji _was_ , but the cold stare he received from the woman shut him up. Now that explained the odd name… it was an alias. He hadn’t even thought of the consequences of revealing his name to all the Demons he’d been working with. Had he unnecessarily put Sammy in danger?

“I’ve already purged most of the potion from your system. With a bit of luck and remorse on your part… you might have a chance to redeem yourself. It’s up to you.” Her eyes seemed to search his distrustfully for a moment, before she turned away with a tired sigh.

“Now, to spare _myself_ any further trouble, I’m going to give you protection from Demon possession. Take off your shirt,” she commanded flatly, while getting up to get something from a shelf in the corner of the room. Whatever it was, the needle on it was quite big and Dean would rather not go near it. Even knives were better than needles.

“Don’t be a sissy,” Ise said with exasperation. “It’s a traditional tattooing needle, blessed and impregnated with holy water. I never thought I’d actually ever use it.”

“I’m hurting all over already,” Dean cringed, but didn’t move when Ise pushed him down on the bed into a completely flat position. She didn’t look in the slightest sympathetic to his pain.

“Should have thought of that when you signed up for this ridiculous job,” she said somewhat spitefully instead. With every moment Lena wasn’t there, Dean was getting more convinced that instead of a monstrous, scary, katana-wielding master, Ise was more like a mean, stubborn child. She seemed to have a grudge against him for no apparent reason and he’d had about as much of that for one day as he could handle. Thankfully he didn’t have to endure any more of her jabs because she began to say something in Japanese, or Chinese, he really couldn’t tell. Concentrating, she put the needle to the skin on his chest and began the sacred work religiously, even forgetting to squint disgustedly at him.

“Thanks,” he said quietly before closing his eyes and clenching his fists when the pain began.

❖

When he finally got home, it was late. Mary was asleep and Sammy was already home, watching TV with a book and a notebook spread across his lap.

“Did you get into another fight?” he asked Dean as soon as he walked in through the door, nursing the sore wrist which had began to complain the moment he put it his hands to the steering wheel after leaving Lena’s place. They had healed him up for the most part, ( _I know someone who knows someone. You don’t need to know._ ) but the pain had lingered. His chest, too, was bandaged up to protect the tender skin where the tattoo of a never-ending knot, a Pentagram, now resided, forever inked into his skin.

His response to Sam’s question was a dismissive grunt. A minute later though, he turned to his little brother apologetically.

“I should have got you from school. Sorry about that.”

“It’s cool,” Sammy looked up at him with a calculating look in his eyes. The kid was far too smart for his own good. “I just walked back; it’s not even that far.”

“It’s not safe out there though,” Dean wasn’t sure if he was saying this to himself or to Sammy.

“It’s fine,” the younger Winchester rolled his eyes. “I got home in one piece didn’t I?”

Dean was not convinced. Knowing that bastards like Cresil were out there, immune to the law of humans and not afraid to throw people into the fire for their own convenience... He had always thought that Angels were the bad guys, but now he was beginning to think there was no difference. Human, Demon, Witch. Everyone was just out to protect their own hides anyway. Witches were the worst though. He might not have said so before, but a dozen cuts and bruises and a broken wrist, topped with mental scarring for the rest of his life, had definitely changed his mind. They were disgusting creeps.

Later that night, when he finally fell into bed, he was completely exhausted. It had been a long, confusing day. Not to mention he had to run for his life and throw up ritual potions on the floor of a grumpy woman who didn’t hesitate to punch a man who was already bleeding and weak. Everything had been so utterly crazy.

For the first time in years, he prayed. It wasn’t structured or faithful. It wasn’t even directed to anyone or anything in particular. His mother used to say ‘Angels are watching over us’. He still hated the bastards who tore his family apart, but maybe, just maybe... their existence proved that something bigger, more important was out there. Maybe there was someone out there who could help. He just wanted to ask for redemption, just this once. For the dark stains now splashed all over his soul to be washed away one day.

❖

It was a Thursday night and for the first time in millennia, in world far different from our own, a lonely Angel heard his prayer.

 

 

 


End file.
